Wolves Are Dying at the Door
by Pennib
Summary: "So Dean forced himself to watch his little brother being carried away from him with a bitter satisfaction." A very introspective glimpse into Dean's mind after the finishing events of 5.02 "Good God, Y'all!" Because the Dean we all know and love couldn't have just let Sammy go that easy. One-shot, with potential for more. Conservatively rated T for safety.


**Title:** Wolves Are Dying at the Door

**Author:** Pennib

**Summary:** "So Dean forced himself to watch his little brother being carried away from him with a bitter satisfaction." A very introspective glimpse into Dean's mind after the finishing events of 5.02 "Good God, Y'all!" Because the Dean we all know and love couldn't have just let Sammy go that easy. One-shot, with potential for more.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Supernatural. It's extremely obvious that I have no controlling interest in Supernatural because episodes like this happened in the first place. This author will not be held responsible for the events of this TV show.

**Warnings, Advisories, Author's Notes . . . Whatever:**

So, I wrote this right after 5.02 aired back in 2009, and – like everything I write – I had plans for doing . . . _more._ Yeah, I'm pretty much incapable of writing one-shots – or so I had thought! I still think I'm incapable of _intentionally_ setting out to write a one-shot (that isn't, oh, 20k words or so), but this little blurb was just _sitting there_. I wrote it so long ago, and season 5 is kind of a thing of the past at this point, and I'm doubtful I'll ever get around to finishing this off like I'd originally planned. So, I'm posting it.

That being said, there's a chance that I might decide to continue this. That depends entirely on how this is received and whether or not I feel like it.

_~~~Flamers shall themselves be salted and burned. Your thoughts and comments are not welcomed here. _**Constructive criticism**_ however is kindly invited. ~~~_

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**Wolves Are Dying at the Door**

Dean watched his brother walk away from him. There had been no yelling, no fighting, though in truth both brothers had expected it. Sam had admitted as much, and Dean had felt that trepidation gnawing at his heart every time he looked at the younger man crossways since their unlikely escape from the church. He supposed that he should feel grateful about the lack of argument; he supposed he should be happy his brother was leaving the hunt so that he wouldn't be faced with daily temptations of this new demon-crack; he supposed he should be relieved that he could finally focus on the Apocalypse and not on when Cain would next betray his brother. He supposed he should feel something.

But he didn't. He felt hollow, deprived of of the essential parts, like someone had stuck him with a vacuum. And the edges of the void inside him sizzled and burned as he watched his brother's back with hooded lids.

Dean tried to identify some sort of emotion inside him while he observed Sam reaching in through the open back window of the Impala to extract his few Earthly belongings, all rolled up and stuffed inside one well-used duffel. After all, he couldn't just be empty could he?

_Maybe I can,_ he thought to himself. Sam had just passed right by the Impala's trunk, not lingering to sort through the arsenal to extract all that belonged to him, nor even pausing to simply pick out his favorite gun and blade from the pile. Dean saw this, noted it, realized that Sam wouldn't have any weapon at all with which to defend himself during _the Apocalypse_, and still not a twinge.

_Maybe I can._

Sam started walking, but not down the road where Dean could sit watching his shrinking back until he vanished on a far-off horizon. Instead, he approached an old nearby truck with a camper set over the bed and a little green dinghy hooked to the hitch. He conversed with the driver briefly before heading for the passenger door. And Dean was taken by surprise as the heat simmering around his edges suddenly boiled over and twisted up behind his navel. His fingers curled and tightened into bunched fists, and his jaw locked as the overpowering urge struck him to run to his baby brother and tell him to get his ass back in the Impala where it belonged.

Deeply rooted emotions rolled over him, screaming with his father's voice orders to _stick together_ and, louder than all else, _watch out for Sammy._ He couldn't let him go, couldn't _let_ him. Sam couldn't look after himself as well as he thought he could. Something would happen – like something _always_ does. He'd find another Jess, another Madison, another Ruby; another Hunter like Gordon would come along and hunt Sam down; demons would discover him, hiding and alone, and exploit this new fatal weakness. And if Dean wasn't there to take care of him – _to save him – _he'd lose his brother. Forever.

_No._

He growled, blowing hot air out his nostrils and forcing his hands flat against the coarse wood of the picnic table. He hadn't been expecting to have Sam whisked away from him so abruptly, had thought that instead he would have his own time to watch Sam walk away at a max of two miles per hour. But his brother had wasted no time, and, catching the departing camper, had decided to get good and gone, right away. And Dean, no longer having the opportunity to systematically ignore and dissolve each doubt – each _emotion_ – as it popped up, ridding himself of them before even consciously realizing they had been there, had been swamped by their simultaneous surge. The rushing fear had nearly overwhelmed him, and his protectiveness had made an unwelcome appearance. He had barely quashed the urge to run over and start that argument with Sam – and _win_. But stopped it he had, and it had only taken one quick reminder.

The Apocalypse. Sam had singlehandedly started the Apocalypse. Yeah, he'd been taken in and deceived by Ruby, hadn't been a witting participant. But he had sided with a _demon_ over his own family, and the world literally _was_ ending because of it. It just couldn't get any worse than that, and there were some things you just couldn't forgive.

Sam said he was sorry. Dean _knew_ he was sorry, knew his regret was as genuine as it came. But now Dean had a world to save – if he _could_ – and he just couldn't bring himself to care that Sam was _sorry._

And that was all.

So Dean forced himself to watch his little brother being carried away from him with a bitter satisfaction.

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_Please review and tell me what you think! A few of my good friends whose English-skillz I admire have read this and given their seal of approval, but it wasn't strictly beta'd. So I'm anxious to hear from you!_


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